Page 14 of Margins of Love
Her nose crinkled again but she said nothing. The most adorable face he had ever seen.
After dinner, when it was time to say good night, Fave handed Rachel a little package wrapped in a handkerchief embroidered with the initials FP.
“Don’t peek until you’re in your room.” He feigned a frown and leaned in a little too closely.
She responded with the most enchanting smile and in that moment, Fave knew his life had been changed forever.
CHAPTER11
Rachel hid the package until she got to the top of the dimly-lit stairs. Then she peeked. It was a piece of marzipan! The sweet almond smell brought her mind back to her dinner partner. He had enchanted her. His description of the teal sapphires from Montana flattered her. She placed a hand on her chest as if she could will her breath to calm. Fave had gone from irritating in the library to heart-stoppingly handsome at dinner. Then she remembered she had told him all she knew about peas and fibrous legumes. She threw herself against the nearest wall and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out memories of her embarrassing chatter.
In her state, she took a wrong turn in the halls. All the doors looked the same and Rachel failed to notice a nearby bedroom door askew, until Lady Bustle-Smith’s mumbling voice reached her ears. And there was a second voice.
“I didn’t learn anything of use, Alli.”
Ah, her daughter. Their voices were muffled, but Rachel heard everything. She held her mouth with both hands to avoid making even the slightest of sounds.
“I am running this household into the ground without your father. And he was little help, truth be told. We do not have the holdings we used to. You’re almost on the shelf, and I’ve been paying the seamstress hush money so she won’t tell anyone that she’s been mending our gowns rather than fashioning ones from her fabric samples. Your new gown, darling, is made of the yellow drawing-room drapes.”
“Amanda Mason asked me if I wanted her hand-me-downs. Me! Have you ever…?” Allison sounded haughtily outraged.
Rachel knew Allison and her entourage of harlots: Amanda Mason, Evelyn Fraser, and Olivia Graham. Rachel always made it a point to steer clear of them at public events. They moved in a pack like wolverines, baring their teeth to the unsuspecting.
“Oh, my darling girl. Your happiness is my heart’s desire.” Lady Bustle-Smith must have hugged Allison because she mumbled something that Rachel could not quite make out. “I’ll find a way. You catch yourself a titled nobleman with a fortune; I’ll do the rest.”
“But Mother, what about Marv—” Alli wailed.
“No buts.” Lady Bustle-Smith stopped her abruptly.
They could have emerged any moment, so Rachel hurried down the hall to her room and closed the door. She knew that eavesdropping was unbecoming, but this was Allison, a mean girl known not to play fair herself. And as long as she did not get caught, nobody would know she had been listening.
Lady Bustle-Smith had obviously realized that the Newmans were sponsoring Rachel’s season and knew the faux pas of not inviting her to the house party. It was generally known that there was a rehearsal season in the country before the masses congregated at Almack’s later in April. But Lady Bustle-Smith’s earnest hushed conversation with her daughter bothered Rachel. Something else was wrong.
Her mother had warned her in the carriage on the way to the country, saying Lady Bustle-Smith “makes and breaks young ladies”. Rachel knew the type of girl to which her mother referred—bored, privileged half-wits who gossiped about others to elevate themselves. Allison was the leader of the pack. Except that something in Lady Bustle-Smith’s rant sounded off, as if this season was the most dangerous yet.
Rachel hurried to her room and devoured the marzipan.
* * *
In another room,exactly seven doors to the left and one floor above Rachel’s, Fave was soaking in a cold bath. He found himself at an impasse. On the one hand, he was smitten with the beauty who had sat beside him at dinner. But on the other hand, he was burdened with the duty to see the arranged marriage through for the sake of theCohanimdynasty.
He held his breath and dipped his head under the cold water. Fave was still hot, his cock unaffected by the chilled water. As he clutched the rims of the tub, he imagined his hands trailing along Rachel’s arms, down to her waist, and back up to her breasts. They had been so neatly tucked away at dinner in that dress of hers, accentuating her features but not flaunting them. He felt so hot, he could nearly bring the bathwater to a boil. The part of his mind that usually gave him control wasn’t functioning. He came up for air and shook the water from his hair. What would he do now?
Fave shuddered to think that his cousin might have a point saying that he needed a lid for his steaming pot. But admitting so put him in an even fouler mood about the dilemma before him. He needed a woman. It irked him that his cousin had been right about that. But he must not bed Rachel. No book could distract his mind enough for his body to follow suit. But he knew of no other way to cope, and so he dried off and headed for the library. Arnold’s advice resonated with Fave, but he saw no way to make it work.
One thing was certain: Fave did not want his father and rabbi colluding to find him a bride. Fave had known this day would come, but he had not thought it would be so soon. He was off his game because he became afraid to give his life into a loveless marriage, sexless and without passion. The prospect was suffocating. In some ways, his virtue was guarded even more closely than his little sister’s because he had to pass on theCohanimprivileges. And while he loved his books, he most certainly did not want to resign his entire life to them. Fave wanted to live, not stand in the shadows of Homer, Ovid, and Virgil. He sighed and knew that he could do nothing about it tonight.
Fave’s grandfather had always said that Jews were the chosen people, explaining the reason both for their persecution and for affection for Fave. His grandfather had said that what made Fave so special was the love he held in his heart, a heart full of joy and passion. But there was nobody to give it to these days. He was a vessel sealed in a vacuum with nowhere to spill. The vacuum was the ton, stifling his thoughts. And the passion was overpowering now. Passion for the mysteriously intelligent beauty he had longed to touch for the past few hours—no, days.
He had visited Brockton House so many times that he knew which creaking floorboards to sidestep to avoid interrupting the nightly calm. As he descended to the ground level, he thought of Rachel. Fave took a candle from a wall sconce and entered the pitch-black library. He was alone. And for the first time since his grandfather had passed away, he felt the void acutely. He missed Rachel.
He chuckled at the memory of her skeptical gaze when she had been served turtle soup. Where was she from, that they did not have turtle soup? He could detect no accent or anything about her that was not thoroughly British. And yet, Rachel had a certainje ne sais quoi. She was witty. But that was not all. She had flair. Her eyes showed intense emotions. They occupied his mind, enveloping him with longing for tenderness and warmth. In those moments with her in the library, he had kissed her knuckles as if he had been born for it. If he did not know any better, he would say he had been hit with Eros’ arrow. And after dinner, when he watched her face brighten with the sweetest smile, he had wanted to lean in and kiss her. The thought made him twitch with glee below his belt. Fave squeezed his eyes shut, disdainful of his imagination. Had she been in a painting of the mythological account of his moment, a butterfly would have hovered over Rachel, symbolizing her fleeting innocence endangered by his kiss. He truly had to stop reading the classics and start living his life, as his mother had suggested.
But Rachel was a puzzle. She seemed above the ton’s gossip and oddly separated from it although she was a debutante this season. She had a profound understanding of the classics, probably deeper even than that of Dr. Palmer, his former professor of antiquities at Oxford. And yet, she had looked the perfect little debutante in her dress. There was more to her, secrets Fave longed to uncover. How was it possible that he had never noticed her before? This could not be her first season, she looked more mature. He decided to find out what she was hiding.
CHAPTER12
“It’s happening again. Rachel, please come!” Sammy stormed into her room and pulled her from the bed.
